


A Very Merry Sherlock Christmas

by Never laugh at a live Sherlock (smaugholmeswatson)



Series: The Phoenix and his dragon [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bit late and I'm sorry about that, Christmas Fluff, Cute, Dragon John, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Christmas, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mild Sexual Content, POV John Watson, Phoenix Sherlock, Sequel, Shapeshifting, Some Plot, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaugholmeswatson/pseuds/Never%20laugh%20at%20a%20live%20Sherlock
Summary: In the same universe as 'Heart of the Phoenix'. Happens after the events of that story and serves as a link to the sequel I have started to write. It does reference event from 'HOTP so it might be useful if you read that one beforehand. :)Sherlock has never done Christmas before and John plans to go overboard with a little help from some friends. Unashamedly fluffy. John and Sherlock are hopelessly in love.I'm sorry it's slightly out of season. I was so busy working over christmas that I never got a chance to post it. Please enjoy it never the less.





	1. We wish you a merry christmas

**Author's Note:**

> The mature rating is for later on in this chapter and for some of the content during the next chapter that will be entitled, 'what Sherlock got John for Christmas'. Thought I'd change the rating now lest I forget later. :)

Normally christmas passes Baker Street by without us even noticing it. Sherlock has never shown any inclination to celebrate it and so I've never thought about it. This year though I am determined to change that. No sleeping in all day listening to Sherlock compose sad tunes on his violin in an empty room and no deliberately ignoring everybody all day. This year we are going all out- whether Sherlock likes it or not. Even Shape-shifters like getting presents and letting their hair down. What's Christmas without a party after all? Deciding on a present is going to be the easy bit; finding a fire proof tree (essential in a flat owned by a Phoenix and a dragon) is going to be just a little bit harder. With no idea where to even begin looking I give Mycroft a call. He sounds delighted when I explain my plan to him. 

"So you don't think Sherlock will hate it?" I ask, not wanting to upset our barely six month old marriage. So far the two of us have been happy and I don't want to rock the boat. 

From the other end of the line there is a loud snort. "Well he won't hate it..." comes the very unhelpful reply. I roll my eyes and am about to hang up when Mycroft speaks up again, "Even though my little Brother is going to kill me for it, I'll help you. Since he married you I don't think Sherlock has stopped smiling." The line abruptly goes dead. Well that's one person down. There is no way I can do this without Greg's help as well. I am about to call him when I movement coming from the kitchen. 

A smile spreads across my face. "About time." I say, raising my voice so he can hear me, "It's already past twelve you know." (Not that I can really talk because I'm not dressed yet either). I yawn and stretch, easing out the night time cramps from my muscles. Moments later Sherlock's head appears round the door, his black curls sticking out in all directions. A fond smile turns up the corners of my mouth. "Afternoon sleepy head." 

Since the events of the last couple of months neither of us bothers to hide our true selves anymore and Sherlock's bare skin glows from the golden fire that burns through his veins. It's quite nice to just be myself around him. There is a sparkle in Sherlock's orange eyes as he walks towards me. "Afternoon." He says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a kiss. When he breaks away he smiles down at me. "You know your in a remarkably happy mood today. Tell me John, do you have something up your sleeve at all?" His deep voice is sly and there is a mischievous glint in his eye. 

Ha, of course he knows something is up. This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about after all, almost nothing escapes his deduction skills. I give him a smile and run my hands along the ridge of his spine, lightly stroking the two fine lines where his wings are hidden when he isn't in phoenix form. I feel a shudder run through him and he bites his lips against a groan. Gripping my arms he forces me to stop, but there is a smile on his face. "John, you didn't answer my question." He leans down, his lips inches from mine. 

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. It's impossible to concentrate on anything right now. All I can think about is Sherlock standing before me wearing nothing but dark blue pyjamas trouser… no. I need to focus. Mycroft will hopefully be here soon and he won't appreciate walking in on a scene like that again. I rest my head on his chest so he can't see my face. He can always easily tell when I'm spinning him a lie. "Mrs Hudson wants you to take her christmas shopping. I think she's still afraid she'll run into Magnusson." 

At the mention of his name I feel Sherlock's body go stiff and I instantly regret bringing it up. I know sometimes that I am plagued with terrible nightmares and judging by Sherlock's restless sleep of late he is suffering as well. Neither of us are going to forget any of it in a hurry. There was a year's worth of torture and mind control to get out of our heads. When I look up at Sherlock I see a shadow pass across his face and the temperature of the room seems to drop for a moment. "Sherlock, are you alright?" All of a sudden his phoenix side is very close to the surface and the hands on my arms burn with heat. It won't hurt me, dragons very usefully are naturally flame proof, but I can't say the same about the flat. 

Then, almost as though he is emerging from a dream, Sherlock blinks rapidly a few times and buries his face into my hair. He breathes in deeply and shaking and I tighten my arms around him. "I'm fine John." He pauses and the orange in his eyes fades a little. He is still shaking but a lot of the tension is gone. "I'll take Mrs Hudson christmas shopping so long as I don't have to wear that awful jumper she knitted for me." He says in a perfectly dead pan voice. 

From over by the door there comes a loud huff. "Really Sherlock. After everything I've done for you it's the least you could do." She must have made an effort to creep up the stairs because my super sensitive draconic hearing didn't pick her up. "Anyway," Mrs Hudson continues, "we're leaving in twenty minutes." With this she turns and walks back down the stairs, once again making hardly any noise. 

Sherlock smiles and unwrapped his arms from around me. "Mrs Hudson has spoken." He says with a shrug, heading off down the corridor towards his room. 

I watch him go a little thoughtfully. Well that was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. Sherlock usually detests the idea of christmas shopping and I'd been expecting him to put up more of a fight. Since our marriage he's become much more mellow and accepting of people. I allow myself a smile. Sometimes I can hardly believe any of this is actually real. It feels as though I'm living a wonderful dream… At that moment Sherlock walks back into the room and I burst out laughing. 

Sherlock pulls a face and looks down at the impressively sparkly Christmas jumper he is wearing. Mrs Hudson made it for him about three Christmases ago and so far it has remained in a drawer. It is nice to see him finally wearing it. "Yes I know, I look ridiculous...can't you come with me?" He asks, his orange eyes pleading. "It'll be..." He struggles for a moment to find an appropriate word, "fun." He finally settles on, sounding far fro convinced it will be any such thing. 

There's the Sherlock I fell in love with. I laugh again and move forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I wish I could but I'm behind typing up our latest cases. I'm starting to get complaints from our fans." I glance at my watch then. Fifteen minutes since Mrs Hudson went back downstairs. "You should get going, you don't want to keep Mrs Hudson waiting." I say with a smile. It's true. She's surprisingly fearsome when she wants to be. 

Sherlock lets out a heavy sigh and kisses me once more before he grabs and heads towards the door. "Fine, but if you get the signal you have to promise to come rescue me." He throws back over his shoulder. Then he is gone and the door is swinging shut behind him. 

I hurry over to the window to watch them go. The two of them make an odd pair and Mrs Hudson is dwarfed by Sherlock's height. They look rather sweet together. Hopefully Mrs Hudson will be able to keep Sherlock away for a couple of hours. As they pass out of sight I feel a slight pang. I still get a little funny being separated from Sherlock after everything that happened. There is always the background worry in my mind that something terrible will happen to him while I am not around. Even telling myself he's a phoenix and therefore unkillable doesn't comfort me like it used to. 

Turning my back on the window I send off texts to Greg and Mycroft; one to ask for help organising christmas for the two of us and the other saying Sherlock is gone and it's safe to head over. Within minutes I recieve replies that they are on their separate ways and will be there very soon. Though I still feel a little down there is a half smile on my face as I head up the stairs towards my old bedroom, which has been converted into a handy place to store random stuff and get some of Sherlock's scientific equipment out of the way. Kneeling down I pull out a box from beneath a pile of blankets. Inside are a number of hand-picked decorations chosen from internet shops with love. It had been great fun finding them and I'm sure Sherlock will love them. Clutching the box tightly to my chest I walk back down the stairs. The sound of footsteps echo up towards me and I glance over the bannister to find Greg climbing up towards me. He grins when he sees me. To my delight he has remembered the scene of crime, white and blue tape I asked him to bring. "Go right in. Mycroft will be here any minute." 

Greg steps aside so I can enter the flat first and holds the door open for me. "You know I'm impressed you managed to get Sherlock out of the house. Has he really gone christmas shopping with Mrs Hudson?" He asks, peering curiously into the box and smiling when he sees the contents. "Nice. I didn't know you could get decorations like that." He lets the door swing shut behind him and follows me into the kitchen. "The mini microscope has to be my favourite." 

Setting the box on the table I return the smile and start filling the kettle, setting it to boil. "It's amazing what you can find on the internet. I found this lot on Etsy... I'm just as surprised as you are about Sherlock. I was certain he would put up more of a fight." I say, pouring water into two mugs before poking at the tea bags with a spoon. "Milk's in the fridge if you want it." Greg eyes the fridge suspiciously and makes no move to open it. He knows all to well, thanks to several drug raids conducted in the past, what Sherlock often keeps in there during cases. I laugh and shake my head. Well at least no one can say that life around Sherlock Holmes is boring. "It's fine. Trust me. I opened it myself earlier." Yes it had been gingerly but at least I had still managed to do it. 

Though he still doesn't look convinced Greg pulls open the door. "You know, I hope Mrs Hudson remembers to take pictures of Sherlock surrounded by crowds of people." He says with a quiet laugh and a gleeful look in his eye. "His face is going to be hilarious!" He pours milk into his tea and puts the bottle back on the shelf. To most people Greg's attitude towards Sherlock can often sound quite heartless but I know from experience that deep down he really does care about the detective. He did after all come through for us last year and I am never going to be able to re-pay him for that. Inviting him round to help decorate the flat is a small thing really that comes no-where close to saying thankyou. I just hope that one day I will be able to help him like he helped us. 

I am about to say something in reply to Greg when a loud noise from the living room catches my attention. It sounds as though something large and made of stone has landed heavily on the carpet, creating a peculiar muffled thud. I know immediatly who it has to be. Since Sherlock and I can summon wings at will and neither of us can often be bothered to use the front foor we had one of the windows widened in the re-build after the explosion that destroyed most of 221B. It also had the happy side effect of making it a lot easier for winged Shape-shifter clients to enter discreetly if they were seeking advice on a delicate case. Unfortuantly it was also easier for Mycroft to pop in to check up on us whenever he felt like it. Let's just say that it has led to some incredibly awkward situations. 

"Hello? John?" Mycroft calls in his low, gravelly rumble. Honestly it is amazing his gargoyle form even fits in the tiny living room. I asked him about once but he went all mysterious and muttered something about growing and shrinking to fit the space. To this day I still have no idea what he meant. There is the horrible, jarring squeal of stone against stone and then he continues talking in his much more normal human voice. "I managed to find a tree." 

Www

Greg and I glance at one another, both of us thinking the exact same thing. After the events of last year Mycroft is almost a completly different person when it comes to his younger brother. It is though after almost losing him he has finally realised it isn't shameful to let your emotions out- sometimes it can actually do you good. Whatever the real reason it is nice to see the relationship between the two of them growing and becoming something closer to that of a normal family. That doesn't mean however he is any better around everyone else. Greg and I head into the living room to find Mycroft standing in the very centre of the room holding a decent sized christmas tree in one hand. An ordinary human would never be able to do that and it is at times like these I realise just how strong Mycroft really is. It is easy to forget sometimes that, even though I'm a dragon and he's a gargoyle, he is actually twice as strong as I am and would easily be able to defeat me in a fight. He smiles awkwardly when he notices us, his grey eyes darting between the two of us. "So where do you want to start first?" He asks, gently laying the tree down and bringing out a bag of fairy-lights that had been tucked beneath his other arm. "I honestly doubt Mrs Hudson will be able to keep my brother occupied for long. He can be rather willful when he wants to be." Mycroft has never had a high opinion of our landlady and this has irritated me more than once over the years. Still today isn't a day for restaring old arguments. Mycroft gestures towards the tree, indicating that I should step forward and take a look. When I stay where I am (Sherlock won't be happy if I manage to burn the flat down in his absence) he sighs and hastens to reassure me that it's ok. "You don't need to worry. I asked a unicorn I know to cast a fire repelling spell on it. You and Sherlock will be perfectly safe around it." 

I am still not entirely convinced however. Maybe I'll feel better once I've tested Mycroft's claim for myself... Taking a deep breath I spit out a single, small ball of fire. The instant it hits the tree the fire fizzles out with a hiss and a puff of smoke. I nod, impressed and turn to Mycroft who smiles back with a smug look in his eyes. One of these days I might learn to trust his word, he is Sherlock's older brother and my In-law after all. I become aware then that Greg is praticaly back in the kitchen, having leapt away from the fire and instinctively taken refuge in case everything went badly wrong. I give him a sheepish smile. "Sorry Greg." 

At first he doesn't reply as he straightens his jacket and glares at me. Then he clears his throat and says in a rather irritated tone of voice, "Just warn me next time al-right! Not everyone in this room is a Shape-shifter. Now can we start decorating before Sherlock comes back and ruins the surprise?" He takes a rather aggressive sip of tea and slams the mug down on a nearby table. Neither Mycroft or I say anything and simply watch as he begins trying to set up the tree. 

I exchange a look with Mycroft. It is often easy to forget how hard all of this must be for Greg. Aside from Mrs Hudson he is one of the few humans left in our little group. I don't think he has forgiven me yet for not telling him I was a Shape-shifter. Even telling him that not even Sherlock had known hadn't done anything to soothe his temper. Maybe one day he'll come to terms with it but I get the feeling that day is still a long way off. In silence the three of us get down to business. All I can do now I hope Sherlock will like it when he gets home. 

* * * * 

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur of activity and by the end of it 221B is transformed and unrecognizable. Fairy lights twinkle from almost every wall, draped across every piece of furniture we could find (it does mean we won't be reading any books for at least a month), and the tree is every bit as perfect as I was imagining. It is anything but ordinary, which is highly appropriate when it comes to me and Sherlock. Decorations shaped as Bunsen burners, microscopes and test-tubes hang from the branches while scene of crime tape takes the place of tinsel. On the very top there is a tiny carved wooden phoenix and dragon perched precariously. Stepping back I admire it with pride. Mycroft and Greg are packing the strings of dead lights back into a box and talking awkwardly about some case or other. I know the older Holmes Brother still finds humans a little difficult so it is good to see him making an effort. 

In the end Mycroft hadn't actually been a lot of help. Instead he had settled down in a comfy chair and taken it upon himself to direct proceedings; leaving me and Greg of course to do most of the hard work. I can't complain too much however because at least he agreed to turn up. Up until last year things had been a little fraught between the Holmes' brothers and there is still a long way to go before they resemble anything that comes close to a normal family. Despite this potential snag decorating the flat had been fun. Now all we could do was wait for Sherlock to turn up. 

Initially when I glanced at the clock and saw two and a half hours had gone by I had worried Sherlock might be a trouble. Somehow I forced myself to remain calm and not go out after him in full dragon form. For one thing I don't think Mycroft would appreciate having to do a major cover-up a week before christmas. He tends to get grumpy when Sherlock and I create extra work for him. 

Another quarter of an hour goes past and finally my patience begins to wear thin. Picking up my phone I send off a quick text. 'How's the shopping going? Need rescuing yet?' I have barely switched off the screen when I get a reply saying that while he would appreciate a knight sweeping in, the two of them are on their way back to Baker Street. With a grin I turn to address Greg and Mycroft. "He's on his way home and should be here soon." 

Greg returns my grin and rubs his hands together. "Good. Maybe I'll actually get to see his reaction before Donovan realises I'm missing." He says, his voice gleeful. Trust him to sneak out of work to help with something like this. Still I suppose being a detective inspector has to have its perks. 

Mycroft however remains silent, his attention focused on the tidying the dead strands of fairy lights back into the bag. None of us had had the patience to work out what exactly was wrong with them and had ended up tossing them to one side. Sometimes I wish I was able to read his thoughts. It would be fascinating to know what goes on in his mind when he gets that thoughtful expression on his face. For now though it will just have to remain a mystery. 

As it turns out Sherlock and Mrs Hudson were much closer to home than suggested in Sherlock's text. Roughly fifteen minutes later the door downstairs opens and the sound of voices drift up the stairs. To my great surprise I hear what sounds like Sherlock's deep voice raised in the final lines of 'we wish you a merry Christmas' with Mrs Hudson accompanying him. I burst out laughing. Maybe I should send the two of them out together shopping more often. Apparently she is a good influence on him. 

Greg looks at me with his eyebrows raised and a bemused expression on his face. He looks just as surprised as I do. This sort of behaviour is not normal when it comes to Sherlock. "Is that really…?" He starts to ask. He is interrupted by Sherlock bounding through the door of 221B and sweeping me into a hug. 

"Why have we never been Christmas shopping before, John!" Sherlock cries as he releases me and drops a number of heavy bags to the floor. He looks so happy it would be cruel if I reminded him that he always turned his nose up at the thought no matter how much I tried to persuade him. "It was so much fun and no one even batted an eye lid at the shape-shifters wondering freely through the crowd. I saw a Griffin in Harrods and no one even did a double take!" He says, talking at speeds I have never heard from him before. He looks so excited bless him, which means hopefully he'll like what I have done to Baker Street. Just then he pauses and his eyes widen. Ok, so he's noticed what we've done to the flat. Fingers crossed it goes down well. "John, what is this?" Sherlock asks, his deep voice soft and his orange eyes glowing brightly. It's funny but he always seems more Phoenix like when he's in a good mood. 

From behind me there comes the whir of a camera lens clicking shut and I glance over my shoulder to find Greg standing there holding up his smart phone. There is a gleeful look on his face. "Just wait until Donovan and the others see this." He says with a laugh as he slowly begins to walk towards the door. As he passes Sherlock he slaps him on the back. "Actual photographic proof Sherlock Holmes can be surprised!" Sometimes I can't help but wonder just how many videos and photos Greg now has on his phone. There is definitely some video of the time Sherlock was drugged (check out a Scandel in Bohemia if you want to know what I mean) and probably much more as well. Maybe one day he'll agree to show some of it to me. Greg shakes his head and laughs again before he walks out the door and disappears down the stairs, obviously headed back to work before his absence is noticed. Faintly I hear him saying hello to Mrs Hudson. 

Sherlock meanwhile has already moved on from Greg and has turned his attention to Mycroft instead. Need to say he seems surprised to see his older brother. Mycroft shifts uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny and his skin takes on the distinctly stone like tinge it always gets when his emotions aren't completely calm. Steepling his fingers together he nods at his brother. "Hello Brother Mine. Did you enjoy going Christmas shopping?" There is a slight mocking undertone in his voice but Sherlock doesn't appear to notice it. 

Sherlock is silent and appears to be intently studying the decorations. I hold my breath, praying for a smile. Finally his gaze moves to the tree and I am able to relax. The moment he notices the decorations and the crime scene tape he bursts out laughing. "Very nice. I'm guessing the tape was Greg's input." He grins at me before turning to address Mycroft. "The shopping was surprisingly nice and nothing compared to the nightmare I thought it was going to be." 

Bending down Sherlock rifles through one of the bags by his feet before straightening and tossing something at Mycroft. "Merry Christmas brother." He says with a wink before sliding his arm around my waist and lightly kissing me on the cheek. "I knew you were trying to get me out of the flat for a reason." He murmurs in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. 

With a sigh I lean my head on his arm. Thank God he likes it. After all the effort Greg and I put in it would have been annoying to say the least if he had turned round and said he hated it. 

Even Mycroft can not help but smile when he sees the happiness on his younger brother's face and for a brief moment his grey eyes almost look human. In his hands he clutches the thing Sherlock threw to him earlier which on closer inspection turns out to be a neatly wrapped red and green present. He cradles it almost reverently to his chest, as though it is the most precious thing he currently owns. Which for all I know might actually be true. I've never heard anything about the Holmes family christmas from either of them after all. This thought makes me feel a little sad but I quickly push it aside. I have no time for such thoughts. 

"I should be going. There is much I need to be getting on with at work." Mycroft says as he rises from his chair and walks over to Sherlock. For a moment I am convinced he is going to give Sherlock a hug. It quickly passes however and then he is walking across the room towards the window. "I'll be back Boxing day for the Christmas meal John is organising." In the grey eyes there is a blink and you miss it sparkle of amusement but he turns his back before I can be completely sure I saw it. With a creak his wings unfurl seemingly from no-where as he half shifts into his gargoyle form. He gives us the briefest of smiles and then opens the window, disappearing out into the skies above London. I watch him become little more than a black speck before I turn to face Sherlock. 

Just like earlier this morning the fire burning through him glows brightly until his entire body seems to be illuminated by a soft golden light. It is incredibly beautiful and even now, after having seen it so much, I still find myself staring at him in awe. I can still hardly believe sometimes that I am married to Sherlock Holmes. 

Through our connection I feel a wave of warmth and love radiating from Sherlock. In response my Dragon side rises a little closer to the surface and scales begin to appear beneath the skin of my arms. I have always found it harder to control my emotions than Sherlock does, for whom calm and collected seems to be second nature. I clear my throat and close my eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to get my emotions back in control. Seconds later warm arms wrap around me and I open my eyes to find Sherlock's face inches from mine. He is so close I can feel his hardness pressing against the side of my leg. I swallow hard, my pulse accelerating. "So I'm guessing you like what I did to the flat", my voice shakes a little and I let out a breath that is little more than a sigh. 

Sherlock's orange eyes burn brightly as he leans in. "I love it, thank-you. What ever did I do to deserve a wonderful husband like you?" He murmurs gently, before he closes the gap between us and crushes his lips to mine. 

Everything is a bit of a blur after that. Clothes tearing, hands roving over skin, warm lips on burning flesh and a shuddering release that engulfs us both in fire. Afterwards the two of us lay in a comfortable tangle of wings, feathers and scales (both of us having shifted at some point) with neither of us prepared to move anytime soon. Through heavy eyes I gaze down at Sherlock. He is sprawled half on and half off my upper body and one of his wings rests against my side. I sigh contentedly, smoke drifting from my nostrils. "If we've damaged anything again Mrs Hudson is going to go mental." My voice is slightly rough and breathless from our recent exertions. 

The ripple of a laugh runs through Sherlock and he raises his head slightly, his beak catching the light and gleaming for a moment. "Oh dear." He says, his voice light, "don't look now but I think we have burnt a hole in the carpet." (This is always the problem when the two of us have sex. When we lose control of our emotions we lose control of everything. Maybe we'll have to get the entire flat fire proofed before we end up accidentally burning it down). 

I let out a quiet groan and run my claws through the soft feathers o Sherlock's head. He lets out a contented sigh. "So what do we do now?" I ask, idely blowing a smoke-ring towards the ceiling. As comfortable as this is eventually the two of us will have to return to real life. The last few months has felt like a wonderful dream and I can't wait for when we go on our honeymoon in March. Knowing our luck though Greg will probably phone up to ask for our help on a case. For now though I plan to enjoy this brief moment of peace. After all, in my experience, I have found life to have a nasty habit of surprising you when you least expect it. 


	2. What Sherlock got John for Christmas and what they did with it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out to be incredibly smutty at the end with more sex than there is plot...Apparently I shouldn't write fan-fiction when I'm bored in university lectures.

On Christmas day I wake up early to a room that is still semi-dark and an alarm clock that reads 4:30 in bright red. There is no reason why I am awake but a faint sense of panic is telling me something isn't right. Rolling over I go to wake Sherlock and realise with a jolt he isn't beside me when my hand only encounters bed sheets with a slight warmth still to them. Instantly my heart begins to beat a little faster and I sit up, using my sensitive night vision to search the room. There is no sign of him and I can't help but feel worried. Especially after the late night news report yesterday. 

Leaping out of bed I shift into dragon form, my huge form only just about fitting into the room and through the doorway. Despite how awkward it is if there is a threat I want to be ready to meet it. In human form I don't stand a chance against most shape-shifters. Slowly, constantly listening all the while, I creep down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen. Creeping isn't easy when you're a dragon and along the way I manage to scrape my scales along the wall a few times. Every time I wince at the noise and momentarily freeze. Nobody stirs in response and I continue making my way forward. 

It is when I reach the kitchen I hear the first sounds of another person in the flat with me. From the front room there is the steady sound of somebody breathing. It's probably Sherlock (let's face it, it almost certainly is Sherlock) but after everything we suffered at the hands of Moriarty and Magnusson I'm not taking any chances. There are those who wish harm to shape-shifters. 

Taking a deep breath and then carefully letting it out (setting fire to something, though potentially a good way to flush out intruders, would not be good for the flat itself) I poke my head around the sliding doors that separate the kitchen from the living room. This is the moment of truth...finding out whether it is Sherlock or an intruder who will need to be dealt with. Before my eyes can adjust to the darkness however the main light is switched on, the brightness destroying my night vision completely. With a startled yelp I instinctively jerk back, scraping my back spines against the ceiling and bringing down a cloud of dust. I inhale some and begin to cough. Great, so much for a stealthy entrance. 

From over by the Christmas tree there is a familiar laugh and I relax, knowing we are not in any danger. I have been paranoid ever since Greg told us that Magnusson and Moriarty were being put on trail for everything they did. I've been expecting to hear news of some dramatic escape or something like that for several days now. The laughter continues and, shifting back into human form, I step through the door into the living room. 

"What on earth are you doing John? I didn't think you would be up for at least another few hours." There is a note of disappointment in his voice. "Can't you go back to sleep for another hour or so?" He asks, sounding hopeful. 

By now my eyes have readjusted to the light and I am able to clearly see Sherlock kneeling beneath the tree as he rearranged a pile of neatly wrapped presents. He is dressed only in a dressing gown and obviously intended coming back to bed once he was finished. I can't help but feel faintly guilty for disturbing him because he apparently had some big surprise planned. I stay by the door, leaning against the frame, and watch him for a moment. "I couldn't sleep. The images from the news report we watched last night keep playing in my head..." I explain, stretching to try and ease out some of the cramp in my shoulders. There is a quiet crack and I relax again. Sherlock simply stares at me without saying anything. With a heavy sigh I straighten and walk over to my armchair, collapsing down into it and making myself comfortable. 

So far this month, without any explanation or clues as to what happened, six Shape-shifters have gone missing. None of them have been Mythical shifters of course- far as I know there are only four of us living within London. Anyway, naturally the disappearances have sent the shifter community into a panic. Things such as this simply do not happen to us. As of yet Greg hasn't called us in to help investigate. While Sherlock has taken this as a snub I get the feeling Greg is simply trying to keep us safe. Recent events took quite a toll on him judging by how much weight he lost... burying my head in my hands I try to push the thoughts away. I shouldn't be feeling like this. It's Christmas and I promised myself I would make it the best I possibly could for Sherlock. The real world isn't allowed to creep in and ruin it. 

A hand lightly touches my shoulder and I feel a wave of warmth wash through my body. The night's aches and pains vanish but it doesn't do anything for the turmoil currently churning in my mind. A faint smile spreads across my face. "What's wrong with me right now you can't fix." I tell Sherlock as I raise my head to look up into his eyes and the sadness that is within them. 

His voice is heavy as he begins to speak. "I know Love. But I can at least try." He says, lightly placing a kiss on my forehead. I lean into him, comforted by his neatness and the warmth radiating from his body. The glow within his veins is faint and barely visible (he usually tends to keep himself carefully controlled around the flat because accidents do happen) but there is enough to show that his Phoenix form is never far away. Sherlock clears his throat and moves to kneel in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. There is a playful smile on his lips and his eyes are dark with desire. "You know, since you're awake, I may as well give you your present now." He says, his deep voice rough. I feel a shiver run down my spine. 

I half expect Sherlock to go over to the tree and select one of the present lying there. Instead he leans towards me, his arms wrapping around me and his hands creeping under the hem of my t-shirt so he can lightly stroke my skin. Sometimes it is easy to forget how Sherlock used to be when I first met him. A cold, seemingly emotionless person but I know now that was just a mask to prevent people from getting too close. Though many people wouldn't believe me Sherlock is one of the kindest and loving people I have ever met. 

Reaching down I untie the belt of his dressing gown to discover he isn't wearing anything underneath. There is a gleam in his eye as he gazes down at me for a moment and I feel my heart skip a beat. Being married to him is one of the best things to have ever happened to me. Being with him makes me feel as though my life is finally complete... all thoughts are driven from my head when he hungrily crushes his lips to mine. 

His hands roam over my skin, his fingertips not even pausing when he brushes the scales covering my body in various places. I do the same, admiring the perfect state of his body; the flawless skin and powerful muscles. There is something special about knowing that he belongs to me and I belong to him. It makes these moments all the more precious. 

Sherlock begins to glow with the beautiful golden light I am now so intimately familiar with as his Phoenix side begins to show itself a little more. By now his eyes are a startling bright orange and burn with a tiny inner flame of their own. Sherlock flexes his shoulders and, with a quiet rustle, his wings unfurl behind him, the shimmering golden red feathers brushing the floor almost close enough for me to reach out and touch them. It's funny but while I know the effect a touch can have on Sherlock's wings we have not yet experimented how mine might react. But then, after all, there is a first time for everything. I pause for a moment and pull away mid kiss so I can gaze into his eyes. He looks back at me curiously, his head tipped to be side as he tries to work out why I have stopped. I reach out and cup his cheek, a smile spreading across my face. "I love you so much Sherlock. You know that right?" 

A gleam enters Sherlock's orange eyes and I feel a shiver run through down my spine. "I love you too." He murmurs, his lips so close to mine I am able to feel his warm breath tickling my skin. The remaining tension in my body from watching the news reports yesterday drains away and I sink back into the soft cushions of the chair, losing myself in this moment and simply savouring being able to spend this time with my husband. How can I worry about the rest of the world right now? It's christmas for goodness sake! It's one entire day without the outside world encroaching on our lives, one day away from the harshness and horrors of reality. 

Sherlock's eyes are dark with desire as he pulls me off the chair and onto the floor, where he hovers above me for a moment, his hands either side of my shoulders and his legs straddling mine. From here I can clearly see how hard he is. The feathers on his wings ripple in response to his excitment and I reach up to lightly run my fingers through their softness. Sherlock arches his back, closes his eyes and lets out a moan of pleasure. Then he sucks in a breath and grabs my left wrist. "You know," He says, his voice rough, "It doesn't seem fair you always get to play with my wings. I think it's about time that I have a go." 

Swallowing hard I sit up. Instantly Sherlock's hands are lightly stroking the tiny scales that run along my shoulder blades, trying to tease my wings into coming out. A tingle runs through my skin and without any further encouragement I allow my wings to unfold to their full extent. Naturally, being a dragon, mine are nothing like Sherlock's beautiful golden red feathers. Instead I have leathery sails tipped with tiny claws which aren't half as nice. Not that Sherlock really seems to notice this or particularily care even if he does. With hesitation he carefully, gently runs a fingertip down one of them. An intense wave of pleasure crashes over me and I let a low growl that rumbles in my chest. It takes a huge effort of will not to lose control entirely. Letting out another growl I pull Sherlock down to me and crush my lips against his. In the meantime his hands continue to play along my wings, carefully stroking the leathery folds and tickling the delicate bony structures that allow me to open them. At the same time an intense warmth begins to spread through my body and I bite my lip. I am vaguely aware of Sherlock using sharp talons in order to slice apart my clothes but most of my attention is focused on the tingles of electricity coursing through me everytime he touches my wings. No wonder he likes me doing it so much. 

Our bare skin touches and I suck in a shaky breath. My hands slowly roam across his body, teasing at the golden down covering his lower stomach. They become feathers the further down you travel and I trace them, following the lines of Sherlock's body. I feel his heart-beat quicken and he buries his face in the side of my neck with a groan, lightly nipping at the skin. A shudder runs through me and without meaning to my fingers change into claws, leaving bloody lines when I run them along Sherlock's skin to pull him closer against me. He bites his lip, the two of us moving together in perfect rhythm; even our hearts beating in time with one another. 

Another wave of pleasure crashes over me and I barely stop myself from shifting into dragon form. I break off the kiss to murmur in Sherlock's ear, "I'm close Sherlock. I'm not sure how long I can hold it off." 

Sherlock slowly lets out a shuddering breath and nips the side of my neck again, sending a spike of painful pleasure running through me. "So am I." He whispers back, his skin almost unbearably hot to the touch and the golden glow is easily drowning out the early morning sunlight beginning to creep its way through the windows- signaling the start of what is going to be a cold and crisp christmas day. 

Seconds later, again perfectly in sych, the two of us cry out in equal pain and pleasure as we hover on the brink for a moment. Then there is a burst of fire as the two of us finish at the same time. Sherlock collapses on top of me and I am able to easy feel his stickiness on my skin. My heart continues to race and I close my eyes, a smile on my face as I savour this moment of tired satisfaction, content to just lie here and enjoy being in the company of my husband. After a few minutes however Sherlock rolls off me and instead fits his long body against mine, our wings and arms becoming tangled together. "So what did you think of your first christmas present?" He asks with laughter in his deep voice as he places a kiss on the back of my head. 

I reach up to intertwine my fingers with his. "It's definatly my favourite." I say, my voice still sounding breathless. While my wings are tucked away out of sight once more, Sherlock's are curled around the two of us so we lost in our own world of glowing golden light. 

"Wait till you see the others." Sherlock answers with a twinkle in his eye. A smile spreads across my face in return. Hmmm I think I like this aspect of married life. Still much as I would like to stay like this there are things I need to be getting on with (not to mention more presents to be unwrapped). 

Reluctantly I slowly unfurl and stand, stretching luxuriously when I notice Sherlock watching my every move. "Well before we open any more presents I need to take a shower." I tell him, aware I may have forgotten to have one last night. Turning I head through the kitchen. Instantly Sherlock follows, his golden wings tucked tightly against his back to avoid knocking them on the walls. 

"That sounds like a good idea." Sherlock says, his deep voice tinged with mischief. I can't help but roll my eyes slightly. I swear he has nothing else on his mind these days (not that I'm complaining obviously). Though I am unable to see him I can feel his closeness in the intensity of the heat radiating off him, accompanied by the constant golden glow burning through his veins. Right now it lights up the dim corridor, turning it into something magical. 

That is one of the few bad things about being a Mythical Shifter. It is almost impossible to hide your true nature and even when you do manage it it's utterly exhausting. It's much easier for the ordinary Shape-shifters. Once again my mind briefly flashes back to the news report and the missing Shifters, and once again I push the thoughts away. Instead I distract myself with my plans for tomorrow and the fact that everyone is coming to Baker Street for Christmas dinner. Which reminds me- I haven't warned Sherlock about it yet. I might have promised him a quiet Christmas all to ourselves so he probably won't be pleased when they turned up on the doorstep tomorrow. Well there's no time like the present to tell him. 

Clearing my throat to get his attention I begin to speak, "Sherlock, there's something I should probably tell you..." I don't get a chance to finish my sentence because at that moment both of our phones start ringing, their shrill tones echoing in the otherwise peaceful flat. Who on earth could that be today of all days? Far as I know everyone we know is busy. 

Looking back I can't help but wonder what would have happened if we hadn't answered and carried on with our Christmas. Maybe we would have stayed blissfully ignorant for a few more weeks before the horror came crashing into our lives... well it's too late to worry about that now. With hindsight though I think I would have let it ring. 


	3. The message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter in what turned out to be a very short story. The end of this will pass directly into the beginning of the sequel to 'Heart of the Phoenix'.

Back-tracking into the kitchen I pick up my phone and glance at the caller ID. Unknown number. I almost don't answer it, half expecting it to be rubbish but some sixth sense warns me this would be an extremely unwise idea. The hair on the back of my neck standing on end I press the button to accept the call. Beside me Sherlock does the same thing. 

At first there is nothing but silence on the other end of the line- a silence that never-the-less feels heavy with the tension of some hidden presence waiting in the wings as it prepares to strike (Yes. I may have been overthinking this whole situation just a little bit). I force myself to take a calming breath, telling myself that it's nothing but a phone call. Seconds later I discover just how wrong I am. I jump, as on the other end of the line, there is a click followed by the whirr of what sounds like a tape player starting up. I glance over at Sherlock to find him gripping the phone with fingers ending in hooked talons. His candle flame orange eyes gleam brightly for a moment before they harden into chips of amber. At the same time a soft and yet skin-crawling voice begins to whisper in my ear. 

"Greetings Shape-shifters of London. This is a friendly message to say that as of this moment you are no longer at the top of the food chain in terms of power. Now please do not be alarmed by this. There is nothing you can,do about it after all. I just wanted to tell you of the lie of the land before more of you went missing." There is a pause, during which a cold shiver runs down my spine. Who the hell is this person? The recording continues. "I also look forward to tangling with a certain Phoenix Shifter and his husband. Anyway do enjoy the rest of your Christmases. I will be seeing you all in the new year!" With this final and rather chilling statement the line goes dead. 

My hands begin to shake, my inner fires rising instinctively to the surface at the very obvious threat that has just been issued. As a rule dragon Shifters tend to be fierce and incredibly protective when someone they love is threatened. With a snarl I bare my teeth. Beside me Sherlock slowly lays his phone down like it is some poisonous creature about to bite him. His hands are shaking ever so slightly. "Sherlock, what do we do? Summon the others and decide on a plan of action?" I ask, barely able to keep the anger I feel from my voice. How dare this mysterious stranger destroy our peaceful Christmas! Clenching my fists and barely stopping myself from shifting I turn to Sherlock. 

To my surprise, considering what we have just heard, he seems perfectly calm. Even his hands have stopped shaking. Surely he must be a tiny bit shaken by the threat that has been issued- a threat that still sends a shiver down my spine. "We don't do anything. We enjoy our Christmas and carry on as planned. After last year everyone needs some time to relax and breathe. It seems cruel to take that away from them." He says with a faraway look in his orange eyes. His wings ripple faintly with an emotion I am unable to identify. "Come the new year we'll address the new threat." Then he puts down his phone and heads into the bathroom. 

I don't follow him, still reeling from the phone message. Leaning back against a cupboard I begin to wonder. Was it just us who received the message or had it been played to every Shape-shifter in the city. I am half attempted to call Mycroft and find out. The older Holmes Brother can usually be relied on to know what is going on (one of the useful things about having a high ranking Government official in the family). However this time there is something holding me back- the realisation that Sherlock is right. All of us deserve a little happiness sometimes. Besides if they heard the message then it's up to them to give us a call. After all this is mine and Sherlock's first Christmas as a married couple. 

Tossing my phone down on a nearby worktop I let out a heavy sigh and hang my head, staring down at the well stained and scorched floor. Though Sherlock may be right I have a horrible feeling about this whole thing. The funny thing is that if you asked me to explain why I felt this way there is no way I could describe what has brought me to this conclusion. Let me just say there is a heaviness in the air and a sense of prevailing dread hanging over us. 

Great. So much for our Christmas. Now the two of us are going to be distracted for the rest of the day. Not that I can really complain all that loudly after almost losing Sherlock forever. I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. Even now a wave of hopelessness washes over me when I think of it. A shiver courses down my spine. Whatever happens I think next year is going to be interesting to say the least. But there's no way it can be any worse than last year... Right? 


End file.
